


Heavy hearted till you call my name

by glim



Series: accidental valentine [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, M/M, Memories, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 22:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Bucky touches Steve's face, touches his lips and his jaw and his eyelids, traces his thumb over the shape of his cheekbones and then touches his mouth again. He feels a decade dissolve beneath his fingertips and feels the warm wind whip around their shoulders and ankles.





	Heavy hearted till you call my name

See, here's the thing: 

It's Valentine's Day, the most ridiculously over marketed holiday of the year; the stabbed, fluttering heart at the center of a hard, grey month. 

It's also, somehow, a ridiculously warm evening, a brief glimpse of spring in the middle of winter, a moment of longing for sun and warmth after the long, cold nights that January had to offer. 

So, really, after the snow and the ice, and the long cold nights and the frigid days, nobody could blame Bucky for how his fingers curl into the lapels of Steve's coat, nobody could say he was to blame for how once he kissed Steve, he couldn't stop kissing him. 

His whole body seems to melt into the kiss, muscle-memory and desire crowding out any thought in his mind, and all Bucky knows is the feel of Steve's body against his and the warmth of his fingers as they reach up to tangle in Bucky's long hair. 

"I like this," Steve murmurs, still kissing Bucky, "I like how ... your hair and your mouth and you, Buck, just _you_." 

"God, Steve, don't you--" Bucky's breath comes high and sharp in his throat when Steve's fingers tighten in his hair to tug him in closer, and from how Steve murmurs soft kisses against the corner of his mouth and says ' _you_ ' and ' _Bucky_ ' like he's never stopped saying them in that tone of voice. "Don't you fucking say what you don't mean, sweetheart, because I can't--" 

"--and I won't, I promise I won't," Steve says. And, god, his kisses feel like promises as they spill from his lips against Bucky's skin. 

The weather's so absurdly warm for the middle of winter that it almost feels wrong, like they're caught up in a fold of time, and at any moment, it could snap them apart. 

Bucky lets out a ragged sigh as he moves away from Steve; he watches the way Steve's breath comes in uneven catches, too, watches his lips try to form words, his tongue edge along his lips when the words don't come; watches Steve's eyes lower, a flicker of blue beneath gold lashes. 

"Ten years, Steve, I know you were hurting, too, but... _ten years_." Bucky feels his throat go tight, and he swallows past the feeling, because they're not going to do this here, they're not going to rehash the letters and the emails and the long silences between phone conversations. They're not--

"Baby," Steve says, and he sounds sorry and sad and like the words are sticking like memories in his throat, too. "Baby, I _won't_. I'll take care of you this time. You said... you said you wanted to see if we still had anything..." 

Bucky touches Steve's face, touches his lips and his jaw and his eyelids, traces his thumb over the shape of his cheekbones and then touches his mouth again. He feels a decade dissolve beneath his fingertips and feels the warm wind whip around their shoulders and ankles. 

Warm and safe, not snapped of memory and desire, not alone anymore. 

"We still got it, Stevie," Bucky whispers, and pulls Steve into a long slow kiss on the corner of a city street.

* * *

When he pulls Steve into his apartment, Bucky doesn't bother trying to learn and relearn all of Steve at once, he just wants his mouth, the warmth of his skin, the press of his cock against Bucky's hip. He feels half-drunk with need as he fumbles Steve out of his clothes, and kisses the column of his neck and the point of his shoulder as soon as he can touch his lips to Steve's skin. Bucky takes even less time to get his own clothes off, and tumbles Steve back onto his bed with no romantic ceremony at all.

"You're really a professor?" he asks, dipping his head down to kiss Steve's chest, to mouth around the shape of his muscles and taste the warmth of his skin. 

"Yeah, I-- oh god, Buck, god, you can't..." Steve laughs, though, and his body arches up as Bucky kisses his way down the length of Steve's body. 

"I can't?" Bucky asks and he smiles into the inside of Steve's thigh, all soft skin and fine hair and that same, secret warmth that Bucky remembers. "God, you smell so good..." 

When Steve sighs, his body arches up off the mattress, a perfect, taut curve, and he lets his legs splay open, wide enough for Bucky to settle between them. He's got this smile on his face like he knows how good the past ten years have been to him, how broad his shoulders are now and how the scrawling letters tattooed over his ribcage tell some story that Bucky's longing to hear, how he _knows_ Bucky will read every word, lips pressed to the ink, and how he'll read Steve's history between those words and lines. 

He's so hard, too, the tip of his cock curling up toward his stomach, wet and shiny from the come that's already leaking there, and he moans, so soft and low and _sweet_ , when Bucky takes him in hand. 

"Can I--" Bucky starts to ask, then feels something like laughter and arousal bubble up inside him. "Fuck, Stevie, I just want you so bad. I want to be inside you again so bad..." 

Steve's eyes go dark and his hips yearn up off the mattress, trying to get Bucky to touch him. 

Like he even has to ask, like there's any chance in this good goddamn world that Bucky's not going to spend the whole night touching him. Like he's not going to keep putting his mouth all over Steve's body, like he's not going to sink deep inside Steve so that he can feel his orgasm at the base of his spine, so Steve can feel need rise up at the back of his throat because it's Bucky who's fucking him, because it's his guy, the only one, and because Steve's the only one who ever made Bucky feel like he was the one who was filled up, complete and whole, when he was inside Steve. 

There's some fumbling kisses and touches as Bucky reaches past Steve to get condoms and lube from the nightstand; then a few small, sweet ones when Steve leans up to press his mouth to the palm of Bucky's hand, to the place where his heart beats against the veins of his wrist. 

"Like this?" Bucky asks. His body's stretched over Steve's so he could reach the drawer; all he can feel beneath him is the heat of Steve's body, the pulse of his own desire, the brush of his cock against Steve's thigh. 

"Like this. I need to see your face while you fuck me," Steve says, and he holds Bucky's gaze for a long moment, until he glances aside, suddenly shy. "Do it like the first time, like you did back then..." 

And then Bucky is falling, deep and fast and inimitably in love with this man, the one with whom he'd never found a way to fall of out of love.

* * *

Steve's still asleep when Bucky wakes up, his face half-pressed into Bucky's pillows, half into Buck's shoulder. He sighs in his sleep, the sound low and sweet, when Bucky skims his palm over Steve's side. Bucky can't see the tattoo, but he can imagine the shape of the letters and words beneath his fingertips. Maybe it doesn't matter what they say, and maybe the picture those words paint is one he doesn't need to see just yet.

Steve's eyelashes are a fan of dark, burnished gold against his cheek and when Bucky slips his hand up to brush his palm against Steve's cheek, he sighs again and his eyelids flutter for a moment before he settles into sleep again. 

Which means Bucky can reach up to slip his fingers through Steve's hair and smile at how he can still see the gold that threads through the light brown-dark blond of his hair. 

And, yeah, Steve's always been Bucky's golden boy, from the day he pulled Steve out of that tussle behind St. John Bosco's, school yard dirt all over both their uniforms, Steve's palms scraped up and bloodied, his hair a halo of mussed gold around his head as he looked up at Bucky. 

God, that _smile_. That fucking smile that lit up Bucky's world and promised to blind him, catch him unaware throughout his life. It's been more than twenty years and Bucky still carries the memory, no-- _no_ , he carries every damn memory of Steve's smile in his heart. He'll keep them there, too, and keep them secret if he has to, as long he can keep on waking up like this, with Steve's barely-awake smile and warm body next to his. 

Stroking his thumb over Steve's face and then across his lower lip, Bucky gives another sleepy smile to see Steve stir under his touch. This time, he blinks his eyes open, slow and morning-lazy, and gives Bucky the smallest, most pleased smile. 

"Buck..." His voice is morning-lazy, too, all rough and low, barely a whisper. He shifts closer to Bucky on the bed and nudges one of his feet against Bucky's. 

"Yeah, sweetheart?" Bucky doesn't try to stop himself; he's not sure he _can_ stop himself, not when Steve is looking at him like that, tired blue eyes and gold-threaded hair, smiling like he's waking up for the first time. 

And that's _exactly_ what it feels like: waking up for the first damn time in ten years, waking up warm and safe and happy, like there's nothing out there in the world that the two of them can't handle. 

"G'morning..." Steve nuzzles his face in against Bucky's shoulder, kissing him after Bucky makes a small sound of protest at the way Steve's beard rubs against his skin. He presses another kiss to Bucky's shoulder, then to the ridge of his collarbone, then props himself on his elbow to look at Bucky. 

That lasts about a minute before he's kissing Bucky again, sighing into each kiss and and fanning his fingers over Bucky's chest so that he can press closer, so that he can make Bucky sigh with sudden, desperate need. 

"God, Buck..." Steve's mouth moves over his with this yearning that feels soul-deep, and when he moves away, it's only to kiss Bucky's lower lip, then the angle of his jaw, and to mouth something desperate and wordless against his skin. "I need--"

"I know, I _know_... me, too, relearn everything..." Bucky slides his hand back down the length of Steve's body to rest at his hip, curling warm and protective at first, then pulling Steve in closer to him, to feel how he's already getting hard just from kissing Steve, from waking up next to him. 

"I have to go teach at ten o'clock... _fuck_ , that, still that," he gasps into Bucky's mouth when Bucky's thumb notches into the hollow of his hip and holds him hard enough to hurt. 

"We got time... it's... shit, I don't know, Stevie, but we got time..." Bucky's pretty sure it's just past six, long enough for him to keep Steve here a couple more hours, to feel his body move against Steve's. "We have all the time we need." 

Enough time to put his hands and mouth all over Steve's body, to curl his fingers inside Steve and tease him until he's fucking crying because he missed that touch, because he's missed Bucky just as much as Bucky's missed him, his fucking golden boy, his past and future and that flickering moment of salvation that saved them both so many years ago. 

Yeah, he's going to do all that, he's going to remind them both, so that by the time it's ten o'clock, when Steve's standing in front of that lecture hall in the clothes he wore last night, when Bucky's up at the VA with his second appointment of the day, they're both going to realize that they have all the time in the world to relearn each other.

**Author's Note:**

> You all, I'm sorry for that title, but I listened to Sophie B. Hawins's "As I Lay Me Down" on repeat while I wrote this.


End file.
